


Distractions

by RedLeaderfic



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, First Time, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Mild Language, NXT - Freeform, Slash, Tattoos, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:49:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4793363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLeaderfic/pseuds/RedLeaderfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Almost six hours until dawn. He wasn't going to last six hours. He was going to turn and eviscerate a whole girl scout troop long before the sun came up and had no idea how to stop it.</i>
</p>
<p>____</p>
<p>Staying out the night before the full moon was turning out not to be the best decision Baron Corbin's ever made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distractions

Staying out had been a mistake.

Baron shifted in his booth as two more rain-soaked people ran into the already crowded restaurant, the scent of the water amplifying the adrenaline already heavy in the air. The tropical storm had hit over ten hours earlier and further inland than forecast; what had started as a quick dinner stop on the way back from Full Sail was starting to look like it was going to be an all night visit. He knew they'd been lucky to make it here, a falling tree had almost sideswiped the shuttle van right outside the restaurant's doors and the storm hadn't really started then yet. 

Baron dug his nails into forearm and didn't make eye contact when the harried waitress came over to see if he wanted to order anything else. He counted the seconds until she finally scuttled away and concentrated on keeping his breathing steady. Baron couldn't remember the last time he was this close to the edge the night before a full moon – the night _of_ sure, but was always careful those nights. He hadn't turned involuntarily in years _because_ he was careful, he never would have let himself be caught out in public the midnight of the actual full moon but the night before shouldn't be anything near such a problem. His senses were so keyed up he couldn't just smell the waitress' perfume, he could tell how long she'd had it on and the metallic tint to her antiperspirant under it and the lingering trace of the shower gel she'd used that morning. He could taste each individual spice that made up the rub on the steak he'd barely touched and what kind of dish soap they used on the cutlery. He'd positioned himself in a booth toward the back behind a wall that hid half the dining room but it wasn't helping as much as he'd hoped, he could still tell _how many_ people were out there just feet from him. 

The near miss in the van had been the trigger, Baron suspected. Staying calm was the key to preventing a turn, calm and quiet and preferably isolated; he could still feel the adrenaline spike from the van almost overturning from the sudden swerve. He was always a little edgy after a show, Baron knew now he never should have played chicken with a turn this close to the moon. Better than half the roster had gone back to the Center to either wait out the weather or chance driving home and Baron was kicking himself for not having had the sense to do the same. At least if he'd been stuck at the Center he could have made sure there were several solid locked doors between him and everyone else if the worst managed to happen.

A wind gust rattled the windows and the lights flickered. No chance to make an escape now. The roads had been closed for almost an hour and the storm was expected to keep up like this until dawn at least. Unless Baron wanted to walk he was good and stuck, and he was at the point of seriously considering that option. 

Darting movement from the corner of his eye almost sent Baron leaping over the table at it before he got himself back under control. He pressed himself back into the booth and watched the little girl responsible finish emptying the beverage station's remaining half and halfs into her Brownie beret before running back to her friends. Baron noticed he'd gouged grooves in the table and crossed his arms, closing his eyes as he counted backwards from one hundred. His mouth felt like it was full of sandpaper and Baron knew there wasn't enough water in the state to slake the thirst he had now. He wasn't past the point of no return yet but this was closer than he'd been in years. He wasn't sure he'd come back from the next slip. There couldn't be a next slip.

Baron glanced at the clock mocking him from the wall. Almost six hours until dawn. He wasn't going to last six hours. He was going to turn and eviscerate a whole girl scout troop long before the sun came up and had no idea how to stop it. There were too many people, too many scents all crammed too close together, too much anxiety and adrenaline and cortisol hanging in the air like spices. Too much prey.

He scanned the room, hoping that finding something to focus his mind on would take the edge off. Most of the roster foolish enough to have gotten stranded with him were clustered together on the far side of the dining room, either already asleep or doing their best to pass the time. The waitress who'd tried to get an order from him was now getting harassed by Amore and Cassady, who as far as Baron could tell were both trying their level best to get kicked out into the rain by management. Breeze had colonized the only booth with its own power outlet and had taken to all but snarling at anyone who approached trying to charge their own phones. Bayley was making paper hats with the scouts. 

Baron broke off the survey when he noticed Bálor staring him down. He couldn't believe how distracted he'd been; Bálor had moved from his booth at the far end of the dining room to a table right in the middle, positioning himself between Baron and a good chunk of the civilians without Baron noticing. It was an undisguised threat and Baron felt the hair on his neck stand up, his heart pounding as he instinct urged him to answer the challenge. He'd long suspected Bálor knew. The others might write off Bálor's theatrics as set dressing but he smelled wrong, always had. Baron thought this was the longest the two of them had been in the same room and wondered what that demon was whispering in his ear. Probably to put down the mad dog before it was too late. It might come to that. Baron kept steady eye contact, almost daring Bálor to try. 

Baron finally looked away, studying the grain pattern in the table's wood as a bead of sweat slid down his back. He should be grateful Bálor was there. The last time he'd turned like this he'd woken up three states away covered in blood, he still didn't know everything he'd done that night. He hadn't cared enough to find out. Baron scanned the room again, the first touches of genuine panic setting his heart pounding. This time he cared. He liked this strange life he'd fallen into. With football he'd been so careful not to draw _too_ much attention and lost it all anyway because he couldn't keep his aggression in check; martial arts had been promising at first but each win had stoked his bloodlust so high that...well. Woke up three state away. But this _worked_. Baron didn't know why but it did and if he lost this too he didn't know what would come next.

While he was lost in thought Corey Graves plopped down himself down in the chair opposite Baron, and if he'd noticed Baron visibly startle at the intrusion he was diplomatic enough not to say anything. “You know you're freaking people out, right?” Graves helped himself to some of Baron's cold fries. “I'm not saying you should stop, I was just wondering if you were doing it on purpose.”

He shifted in his booth, not sure if he was really supposed to reply. Sometimes Graves just liked to talk. “There's a lot of people in here,” he finally said. It was true enough, if not actually an answer.

“Right? We're absolutely killing the fire codes in the place.” He stole some more fries and Baron pushed the plate over. “At least we weren't the only idiots out on the road tonight. That's why I noticed the perimeter you've built up,” Graves said, gesturing at the empty tables flanking Baron's corner booth. “You've got the only breathing room in here. Tell me your secret.”

_Humanity's innate instinct for self-preservation._ Baron shrugged. “I have a talent.”

Graves grinned and leaned forward; if there was some instinct keeping people away Corey Graves seemed to have been born without it. “The old ladies on the end there have been giving me the evil eye all night,” he said in a conspiratorial stage whisper, nodding over to two elderly women nursing hot teas and pointedly not looking their way. “I'm pretty sure they think I'm some kind of devil worshiper. Figured if they saw us sitting together they'd convince themselves we were forming a coven.”

“You're bored.”

“I am _so_ bored.” Baron would have to be deaf not to hear the plea there. “Even if my phone wasn't almost dead the storm's killing the signal and if I have to spend one more minute within ten feet of Enzo Amore I'm going to stab him to death with a fork. It's cruel and unusual punishment over there.” Baron knew the wise move would be to send Graves away but that mental image helped more than he'd expected. When he didn't speak up Graves relaxed, throwing one arm over the back of his chair as he settled in. “Thanks for the save back in the shuttle, by the way.”

Baron blinked, not sure what Graves was talking about. The near-miss in the shuttle van had an almost dreamy overlay when Baron tried to recall it; the sudden adrenaline surge had almost turned him then and there and Baron felt cold sweat break out over his arms when his mind filled in the blanks of what turning in such a confined space would have looked like. Baron pushed through that; Graves had been sitting next to him then too, chatting about something, a new tattoo maybe. Baron realized Graves must mean the moment of the swerve – Baron had needed to brace against the seat in front and had thrown his arm across Graves' chest to keep him from tumbling out into the aisle. It had been split second instinct, something lost in the haze swallowing up the next few minutes. “You should wear your seat belt,” Baron said, fighting down another jolt of shaky adrenaline. That was the last thing he needed now.

“Hey, that's the only kind of living dangerously I get to do anymore. And I'm not even sure the shuttle has those.” Graves finished off the last of Baron's fries. “Oh hey, I remember what was about to ask when the shuttle almost turned over. What made you get the chest piece? I don't think I ever asked about that one.”

“It's a reminder to keep my emotions in check.” The cage had been one of the first things he'd had done after recovering from the last turn. He'd started getting tattoos in the first place to test himself; pain was one of the most reliable triggers for a turn and he'd worked up his tolerance piece by piece. The cage over his heart had been a promise to himself, that he'd never lose control that way again. It had worked long enough that Baron had lied to himself he'd found a permanent fix.

“The saturation is great, it's hard to get those light colors to stick.” 

Graves started talking about botched pieces he'd seen, spinning a story about a guy he'd known back home who'd wanted a similar piece but hadn't wanted to pay for it and Baron let himself zone out of the conversation. His hyperactive senses made it hard to focus; he could smell the gel in Graves' hair and the lingering traces of makeup from the broadcast, even the ink from his tattoos all jumbled into sensory overload with something faint and acrid coming through the artificial scents, something that tripped instincts Baron desperately wanted to bury. Weakness. Pain. “Are you all right?”

Graves stopped mid-word, mouth hanging open for a second before he recovered. “Yeah. Yeah, I....” He let out a quick breath, his fingers quick drumming on the table. “When the weather's like this, the air pressure gets to me,” he said with a frustrated gesture towards his head, his voice low as if worried about someone overhearing. “Never used to. I keep learning all kinds of fun things about my new normal. That's why I didn't go straight home, I knew I wouldn't sleep anyway.” He leaned back across the table. “Is it really that obvious?”

Baron shook his head but he didn't know how to explain how no one else would have noticed. “The weather has me on edge too.”

Graves seemed to take that as an out instead of as an admission, which suited Baron just fine. “The wind's spooky, right?” Graves said, the windows rattling again at the perfect moment. “Been in Florida for years now and I'm still not used to it, we don't get hurricanes in Pittsburgh. Give me hail any day.” Graves waved the waitress from before over, ordering sodas for the two of them and slipping her a tip as well as an apology for “those idiots over there,” pointing at Amore and Cassady over his shoulder. It must have been a nice tip; the drinks were back almost before Baron realized the waitress had left. Graves stirred the ice in his glass for a few seconds, staring into it before speaking up again. “I like that you never made things weird,” he said. “Some of the others, I know they didn't mean to but they got really weird about...y'know.” Graves made that gesture toward his head again. “Feel like a walking cautionary tale sometimes.” 

Baron shrugged. “You're not any different.” Graves took a long sip of his drink to avoid having to respond and Baron didn't understand the grateful look Graves gave him. It was the truth. “That why you ride with us when we're all shuttled around? To make them uncomfortable?”

“Nah, I ride with you because Saxton drives me up the wall, I'd rather ride on the roof than be stuck in a car with him.” Graves paused for a beat. “Well. Maybe a little bit. Against my religion not to cause at least a little trouble whenever I can.”

Baron could _smell_ how desperate Graves was to change the conversation. The old ladies at the other table were whispering but that was more than loud enough for Baron to hear that Graves' assumption had been one hundred percent right. Well, almost. “They're talking about us,” he said, nodding over to them. “They think we're a gang though, not a coven.”

Graves broke into a delighted grin, leaning back in his chair and rolling up his sleeves to show off the tattoos for his audience. “Y'know, I think this is the longest conversation we've ever had? We've been friends what, a couple years at least, right?”

Baron shrugged again. “I'm not great at conversation.”

“Hey, you know I always appreciate anyone who'll let me talk their ear off and not complain about it.”

Baron noticed the sharp pain scent faded a little when Graves really got talking. Baron supposed he he wasn't the only one looking for distractions. “You mentioned you were going to add to your neck piece.”

Graves' whole face lit up as he started going on about plans and placement options, sketching out a rough design on his napkin. Baron relaxed back into his booth as much as he could and listened to Graves talk; he'd expected being within arm's reach of someone else would make fighting off the turn harder but this was the closest he'd been to control in hours. _Don't turn_ was too abstract, it was trying to climb a hill with no summit. Even _don't turn and kill everyone you see_ was hard to fight against. Too many variables. Too easy to tell himself that even if he gave in Bálor could stop him, or that the wolf would see the number of people and retreat (it never worked out that way but it wouldn't be the first time Baron would have fallen for his own lie.)

Baron knew if he turned he would go for the first person he saw. That was how it had always worked, there was no reasoning during a turn, especially not in the first seconds. He would hurt Graves without even trying. Even if Baron _didn't_ go for him, just flipping over the table to get past Graves would hurt him, Baron would be too fast to dodge. Baron imagined himself going for Graves' throat. Imagined terror filling his eyes, the first spike of fear that would overwhelm his senses. The copper tang of blood mixing with that sharp, acrid scent of pain that had already whetted his appetite so much. Baron forced all of it to the front of his mind until he felt like he might choke on it, Graves' bright eyes going dull and cloudy with shock as he bled out. 

It wasn't in Baron's nature to like people. The promo video production had put together for him, the one with him drawing lines between “his” kind and everyone else had been a bit ironic that way, he'd never worked up much patience for his own kind either. Being alone had never been a tragedy for Baron, uncluttered isolation suited him.

His hearing was keen enough now to make out Graves' heartbeat and he imagined hearing that heartbeat race in panic before slowing and fading into silence. It surprised Baron how repulsive that thought was, to the point he had to take a sip of the now warm soda to cover that he'd almost gagged. There was normally a little attraction to thought of violence, _that_ was his nature. Usually fantasizing about violence like this would push him closer to a turn no matter what his intention, not pull him back. 

Graves gestured when he talked and there was something almost hypnotic about watching the letters inked on his fingers drift in and out of view. He caught Baron's eye, clearly wanting to see if he was following, and Baron nodded even though he'd long since stopped being able to make out the actual words. Baron concentrated on just his voice instead, his voice and the steady, calm drum beat of Graves' heart, using that to shut out the overload from the rest of the room. He'd realized he could just handle his overcharged senses if he focused them narrowly enough; Baron inhaled and filtered out everything but the ink embedded in Graves' skin. When he concentrated he could almost see the tattoos still hidden under his clothes by scent alone, could trace the patterns up his arms and make out the shapes just from the strong scent of the blacks contrasted with the subtler blues and greens. 

He liked Corey Graves. Baron's first week at the Performance Center Graves had walked up to talk shop and give pointers; that had been before the concussion issues, Graves had still been an active wrestler and easily could have considered Baron a threat. Others had. Graves had been recruited, he already had a name in their business, he hadn't needed to be decent to him. 

Baron was panicking. He realized it like it was happening to someone very far away, like he was out of his body. He knew it wasn't showing on his face, Graves wasn't reacting, but he was closer to the edge than he'd realized. Baron tried to will his heartbeat and breathing slower. He would not turn. He would drag himself through this night second by second if he had to but he _would not turn_. The lights flickered again, turning off entirely for a few seconds and the shouts that sent cascading thought the dining room broke Baron out in a cold sweat. He couldn't think about how much fearful prey was packed into this room, he had to shut that out. Graves grinned when the lights came back on, catching Baron's eyes with a _Can you believe this?_ look and Baron held onto that smile with every last bit of willpower he could scrape up. Baron would not kill his friend. The world narrowed down to that one imperative, Baron knew that if he lost sight of that for even a second it would be over.

Someone attracted Graves' attention, Baron thought it might be Bayley. Graves turned his head to respond and Baron could smell the blood coursing through his jugular. Graves rolled his eyes and Baron lip read him saying _be right back_ , his heartbeat and the rush of blood in Baron's ears drowning out the sound. As Graves went out of sight behind the half-wall the shakes hit Baron hard and wouldn't stop; he slumped against the booth and buried his face in his hands, telltale nausea climbing up from his stomach like a hand trying to strangle him.

When he looked up again Finn Bálor was sitting in the chair Graves had just left. “This isn't working.”

Baron _snarled_ at Bálor before he could even begin to stop himself, pulling back from that edge at the very last instant.

For his part Bálor looking entirely unimpressed, raising one eyebrow as if Baron had just proven his point. “If you were by yourself behind a locked door, could you hold it off?”

Baron swallowed. It felt like razor blades going down, his throat was so dry. “I don't know.” 

“Would a locked door hold you?”

“It would depend on the door.”

Bálor nodded. “Find a strong one. The restroom, the back office, the freezer if you think you can take it. I'll try to put a floor between you and everyone else, considering the weather it shouldn't take much convincing.”

Baron had trouble grasping Bálor was trying to help instead of just ending him. “It's never been this hard before.”

“If that's true it's only because you've always given in before it got this far.” The lights flickered again, sending another round of shrieks hammering at Baron's nerves. Bálor watched him with narrowed eyes until he got his breathing back under control. “That was close.”

“The whole last hour has been _close_ ,” Baron snapped back, not able to keep the snarl out of his voice again.

Bálor nodded. “I've been where you're sitting. More than once, actually,” he said, with more sympathy than Baron could have expected.

“And how did those times work out?”

Bálor ran his tongue over his lips. “Well. Let's try to do better with this one.” He glanced around the dining room, then leaned in. “Go. Lock yourself up, do whatever it is you have to. Don't let me see you again until the sun is up.” There was that little instinctive voice again, urging Baron to answer that threat, and this time it was loud enough that he lost a few seconds. He startled back to awareness with Bálor looming over him, one hand on Baron's shoulder. “That was closer.”

There were so many people. Baron didn't meet Bálor's eyes, fists clenched so tight Baron felt his nails digging into his palms. “Don't let me hurt anyone.”

“If I can. If it helps, still being able to ask that is a good sign. Go.”

Bálor stepped back and Baron pushed himself up from the booth. His legs almost shook out from under him and he had to support himself against the wall for a second; he fought the urge to look behind him and kept pushing forward. The men's room seemed like the safest option. Closer. The management office would mean crossing the dining room, if he was even right about where it was, and while the cooler would be the more secure he'd have to go through the back and there was no way to do that without running into one of the restaurant employees. This way he could slip away quietly. 

Baron watched the restroom door for about ten minutes without seeing anyone go in and out. Good. That was the first thing that had gone Baron's way all night.

Baron sat against the restroom's far wall, out of view of the door. The cool of the tiles helped but not as much as he'd hoped; Baron laced his fingers behind his head and pressed his forehead against his knees . He closed his eyes and tried to shut out everything besides his own breathing. Someone had been in to clean very recently; bleach and fake lemon almost drowned out the more enticing smells behind the door but not entirely, the vulnerable crowd still lingering in his consciousness like maddening background noise. His phone buzzed and Baron ignored it. When it happened again a few minutes later he threw it across the room, cracking one of the mirrors and sending sending shards of electronics spilling all over the floor. 

Not long after Baron heard the door swing open. He smelled Graves before hearing him, the heavy scent of cortisol and pain standing the hair on Baron's arms straight up. “Corbin? You in here?”

He'd forgotten to lock the door. Inexcusable mistake, he'd never screwed up like that before. Baron felt his heart start to pound almost out of his chest, the nausea back. He curled up tighter against the wall and tried to will Graves to leave.

Instead Graves let the door close behind him and stepped further in, each step loud as a canon in Baron's supercharged hearing. “Everyone's getting herded down into the basement, they're worried about the windows blowing in.” The scent of anxiety and worry spiked so high Baron could taste it. “Where the hell _are_ you?”

_Go away._ Baron tried to talk but the words wouldn't come out. He wasn't sure he could talk any more. _Please go away._

Graves called for him again, a touch of panic edging his voice. “God _dammit_ , I looked everywhere else, where is he?” Graves said to himself.

Baron hadn't expected anyone to notice he was gone, let alone go looking for him. But of course Graves was worried, he should have realized that would happen. He and Graves were friends and as long as titles weren't involved Corey Graves was good to his friends. For all Graves knew Baron was out in the storm. 

He'd been foolish to forget how dangerous it was to have friends. _I don't want to hurt you. Leave. Please leave._

Graves spotted the shattered remains of his phone and walked over to investigate. “The fuck happened here?” He crouched down to check out the mess, then looked up at the shattered mirror. “No wonder everything's going right to voicemail,” he said, apparently recognizing Baron's phone case. There was fear in Graves' voice now, his heart pounding hard and fast in Baron's ears. 

The instant Graves had stepped into view Baron felt a _click_ deep in his mind. His vision swam; when he blinked that wasn't his friend standing in front of him, it was prey. Fearful, vulnerable, _wounded_ prey. Baron was able to reel that back but he stood without meaning to, his legs carrying him forward despite his orders. Baron dreaded this part of the turn, when he was still conscious but not in control. He wasn't prone to nightmares but when they came they felt like this, these last few seconds before the change took him and he slipped beneath the surface.

He'd more than halfway closed the gap between them when Graves finally spotted him and Baron felt something crack at the sheer relief that washed over Graves' face. “Oh thank fuck, I've been looking all over for you. They're saying it's not safe up here, they're moving everyone into the basement. What the hell happened to your phone---”

He grabbed Graves by his open collar and slammed him hard against the wall right next to broken mirror, desperation and adrenaline letting Baron dredge up just enough control to put up one hand to protect Graves' head. Graves was too surprised to be scared yet but that wouldn't last; Baron loomed over him, the scent of Graves inches away so overwhelming Baron felt dizzy. He realized he was going to stay aware just long enough to watch that surprise turn to fear. The last thing he'd see would be his friend realizing he was about to die. 

Maybe he wouldn't come back from this turn. He'd never met an old wolf and knew that was one of the reasons, every so often dawn came but the wolf stayed. Baron thought he might understand why that happened now.

Baron felt himself start to lunge for Graves' throat up and pulled up at the last second. _No_. He had to stop it. If he could stall the mental turn he'd stop the physical one, one followed the other. He remembered sitting at that table and keeping his head above water by watching Graves' hands move as he talked, letting his senses drown out his instincts.

If he couldn't stop the turn entirely he had to turn it sideways. Channel the energy into something else, anything else. 

He pressed Graves flush against the wall, that nightmare vision of what would happen if he couldn't get himself under control ripping back through his mind. He clung to how Graves' breath felt up against his lips. “Corbin?” he heard Graves say, faint like Baron was standing miles away instead of right on top of him. Uncertainty had crept into his voice but not fear yet. “Everything okay---?”

Baron felt his mouth twist into a feral snarl as the urge to lunge for Graves' throat hit again, this time so hard his vision blurred. He didn't waste the energy trying to resist it, that wasn't working, hadn't been working for hours. He let the motion carry him forward, altering the trajectory at the last possible to kiss him instead. The surprised little breath Graves took sank deep into Baron's bones; Graves didn't kiss back but Baron was barely letting him breathe, let alone react. Graves grabbed his arm and Baron managed to pull himself back. 

There wasn't enough air in the room. He leaned one hand against the wall to prop himself up; that had worked short term but he didn't know if he'd be able to do it again. If Graves so much as pushed him Baron knew his control would shatter. If Graves _breathed_ on him aggressively it might shatter. Baron closed his eyes and listened to Graves' racing heart, counting each beat; he'd never been so close to the edge for so long, not sure what he would be from one breath to the next.

The very last thing Baron expected was for Graves to laugh. “Man, Corbin, you should have just _said_ something.” Graves pulled him into another kiss and Baron let the contact flood his senses, the sudden, heavy scent of arousal getting him lightheaded. He pinned Graves back tight against the wall, keeping close enough Baron could feel his heartbeat until instead of just hearing it. He focused everything he had on the way Graves' lips felt moving beneath his and Graves' tongue trying to get down his throat. He should have guessed Corey Graves would be an aggressive as fuck kisser. 

This was working. He pressed even closer, using both arms to box Graves in; he needed to strip down the rest of the world until nothing existed accept them and this and the way Graves' scent kept shifting the more turned on Baron got him. Baron pressed his thigh between Graves' legs and the shudder that sent through him hit harder than Baron thought the moonrise would a night from now. 

Baron felt Graves' hands push flat against his chest. “Hey. Back off a sec.” It took a few moments for that to process; Graves tried to push him again and Baron growled, the turn he'd almost pushed back getting a handhold again. “Oh man,” Graves whispered, the scent of arousal spiking so high Baron couldn't breathe. Graves didn't resist when Baron kissed him again, sinking into it and pulling Baron back tight against him. Baron had just about managed to let his mind blank again when he felt Graves shake himself, disentangling and trying to push Baron back again. “Back off. Backoffbackoff,” Graves said, so breathless the words ran together.

Baron managed enough self control to take a step back, the shock of suddenly losing skin contact throwing him off balance enough to stumble back a few more before catching his balance. Graves slid out from between Baron and the wall and headed for the door; Baron's legs were rubber and he dropped himself into a crouch against the wall, closing his eyes so he could fight the instinct to run Graves down. Graves must have picked up that something was off. Good. Good for him. Baron needed to let him get away before he lost what little control he had left.

Baron heard a sharp, metallic click, loud as a gun going off next to his ear. He opened his eyes and was baffled to see Graves with his back to the door, a madman's grin on his face. “There. Now no one's gonna walk in on us.” He laughed and ran one hand through his hair as the howling wind outside made itself heard through the walls. “Always did want to die fucking during a hurricane.”

It took a few long seconds for Baron to grasp that Graves had _locked himself in with him._ He felt himself start to hyperventilate, needing to put one hand on the floor to keep his balance. He was pouring sweat, his muscles cramping and shifting in a way Baron dimly realized was the physical beginnings of the turn. He'd never been so close he could feel that starting, he was usually mentally gone long before this point and that stab of horror let him grab a few seconds of clarity. Baron closed his eyes and took the deepest breath he could, focusing on the lines he'd inked on his skin. It was a desperation tactic but it worked; after a few seconds of mental focus he felt a wave of euphoria when the cramping stopped and he felt everything shift back where it was supposed to be. 

Baron opened his eyes and stared at Graves, shutting out every sound except Graves' heartbeat and ragged breathing from across the room. Graves had taken the time Baron had needed to collect himself to toss his suit jacket to the floor and get his shirt unbuttoned; Corey Graves was always so put together it had been months since Baron had gotten to see him like this, clothes disheveled, hair mussed and hanging half in his face, breathing hard like he'd just gotten his hand raised after ten minutes of kicking some idiot in the face. The leader of the Filth Parade reigning proud again. Graves met his eyes, that reckless grin back on his face, and beckoned him to come on already.

Baron crawled forward a few steps before he was able to get his legs back under him. He had to stay on his feet if possible, that helped keep everything back. When he finally reached Graves his legs went rubber again and Baron hid that by kneeling to undo the top button on Graves' and slide them a few inches down his hips. Baron traced the lines of the skull inked around Graves' navel with his tongue, feeling Graves draw in a long, shaky breath the instant Baron touched him. The tattoo was ancient but Baron's senses were charged enough to feel each line, taste the very faint traces of ink trapped under Graves' skin. “God,” Graves whispered, his fingers combing through Baron's hair. Baron palmed Graves' hard on, teasing him through his clothes for a few seconds, then got his feet back under him and picked Graves right up off the floor, pinning him against the wall. “Oh. Oh wow, you're strong,” Graves said, laughing and wrapping both arms around Baron's neck. Baron slid Graves' pants and boxers all the way off and kicked them aside, growling into Graves' skin as Graves wrapped his legs around his waist. “Don't drop me,” he said, letting out that giddy laugh again.

Baron's strength was keyed up almost as high as his senses, Graves easily felt like he weighed a hundred pounds less than he actually did. Baron inhaled as deep as he could, the scent of sweat and tattoo ink and adrenaline all mingling together like the best kind of drug. Graves leaned his head back against the door as he shifted his weight, unintentionally baring his throat, and Baron felt his mouth water. That urge to lunge was back, Baron could smell blood rushing through Graves' carotid artery, so close to the surface Baron tasted copper in the back of his throat. He let himself press his lips against the fish inked on the side of his neck, tracing the linework the same way he had with skull. Graves whimpered and squirmed, almost losing his grip for a second; he felt Graves' pulse jump and lingered there for a while, feeling Graves' life pulse under his tongue and testing his control as long as he dared. “You're not gonna fall,” he said, shifting over to the skull inked over Graves' throat, so happy he could get words out again. Graves nodded but still held on pretty tight, which Baron didn't mind at all.

The ink on the skull was so fresh Baron could taste the difference between the colors. He sucked hard and felt Graves groan, his hands clutching tight in Baron's hair. “Fuck me already,” he said, groaning when Baron tongued the hollow of his throat. “Just go ahead. Don't worry about it being rough, I don't mind rough. Just go slow at first.”

Baron whimpered himself hearing that. His self-control was already razor thin and hearing Graves talk like that stretched it until he felt it startng to fray. Graves groaned again, grinding against him and pressing his face into the curve of Baron's neck. “C'mon, _c'mon_.”

_Okay. Slow. Focus on slow._ Baron undid his jeans just enough, easing his cock out and groaning at not feeling all that pressure any more. He couldn't get undressed without putting Graves down and Baron had no intention of doing that, ever maybe. He hit the lotion dispenser for at least a little help, then pinned Graves more securely against the wall to get a good angle. 

Graves let out a long, shuddery breath when Baron got in the first inch, moaning into Baron's neck and clutching onto his hair again. Baron got one arm tight around Graves' back and braced the other against the door, forcing himself to count to ten before moving again. The scent of adrenaline was so heavy Baron almost couldn't breathe; he growled when Graves dug his nails into Baron's shoulders, feeling woozy when that shot the scent of arousal so high it overtook everything else. “Didn't mean this slow,” he gasped out right by Baron's ear.

_Okay, then._ Baron took Graves at his word and slid the rest of the way in, the way Graves whimpered and moaned and grabbed onto him sinking deep beneath his skin like a new tattoo.

The lights flickered again and this time finally went out, sending the men's room into pitch darkness. He could just hear muffled shouts from beneath their feet but couldn't dwell on it; Graves laughed and held on tighter, saying, “Don't drop me, don't drop me,” over and over.

Baron kissed him to shut him up and pried his hands off, pinning his wrists over his head with one hand and snaking his other arm back around Graves to support his weight. He had to keep his focus and Graves' hands on him was too much, feeling him wrapped around his cock this tight was distraction enough. And anyway, from the way Graves moaned he didn't seem to mind.

Baron didn't need his eyes to see. He took a took a deep breath and pushed away everything except the scent of Graves' ink, the way he had when they'd been sitting at the table and that had been the only thing keeping him from dying by inches. He set a steady rhythm and felt Graves arch into him, jarring his focus for a moment but after a few more seconds he could tell the differences between the black and blues and reds until it became a second vision, the tattoos wrapping around Graves' arms and across his throat like they'd been done in glowing ink. 

Graved bucked his hips, urging more, and Baron indulged in his senses for a few more seconds before letting that focus fall away, concentrating everything he had into getting Graves off as hard as he could. Graves had said he was good with rough and took him at his word again, letting himself get as rough and fast as he dared; he could feel Graves' pulse in his wrists and hear his heartbeat pounding, Graves leg so tight around him he could barely breathe. Graves' breathing got ragged and Baron let Graves' wrists go to wrap one hand around his cock. Graves' whole body shook and Baron could smell how close he was; he let Graves grab onto him again and leaned forward to growl into his ear, remembering how much that had turned Graves on before.

That was all it took. Graves came with a swearing moan, his whole body shaking and nails digging into Baron's arms so deep Baron smelled blood. Two more breaths and Baron came so hard he saw lights in front of his eyes; his knees buckled and Baron managed to twist so Graves would fall on top of him instead of landing on the floor. He lay there flat on his back for a few seconds, Graves lying sweaty and gasping on top of him. 

Baron's mind felt clear for the first time in hours. Easily for the first time since the show, maybe for the first time since he'd opened his eyes that morning. The threat of the turn was still there but it was deep down, like any normal day. Baron hadn't realized how hard he'd been fighting until he didn't have to anymore; he wrapped both arms around Graves, scared that if he stopped touching him he'd be right back where he started.

“Fuck. Fucking Christ,” Graves said into the curve of his neck. “I told you not to drop me.”

“Shut up. You're fine.” 

“I feel _amazing_.” He could smell that; Graves was all endorphins, to the point baron almost felt like he might get a contact high. If the pressure headache was still there Graves sure as hell wasn't feeling it. “I don't believe you held me up all that time.” He stretched out on top of Baron, like he was going to sack out there for the night. “Did you have me up by one arm for a while there?” Baron just shrugged, smiling when that made Graves curse again. “You _gotta_ stop holding back in the ring.”

“Lots of adrenaline. Couldn't do that all the time.”

“Fuck, you're still shaking.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Baron's senses weren't quite as keen as they'd been a few minutes ago, but he could still hear Graves' heart beating just fine. “I think I needed that bad.”

“Yeah, well, next time you wanna fuck me don't stay quiet about it for two years, okay?” Baron nodded; he'd agree to anything Graves said right now but especially that. Graves kissed him, fumbling for a second in the dark, and Baron felt that all the way down to his fingertips. “Guess we're camping out here, huh?”

Baron ran his tongue over his lips. “You should...it's probably safer down with everyone else.”

“You kicking me out of bed, Corbin? Should have figured you'd be the type.”

“Never pretended I wasn't an asshole.”

Graves laughed. “Knew I liked you for a reason. Any reason you don't wanna join the unwashed masses down there?”

Baron felt his heart rate pick up just at the thought of being packed in so tight and pushed the thought far, far away. He felt too good sink back into that pit so soon. “Just don't plan on moving anytime soon.”

“Fine by me.” Baron was glad it was too dark for Graves to see the relief he knew was all over his face. “You think anyone'll come looking for us?”

“Not 'til dawn, probably,” Baron said, remembering Bálor's warning. 

“Again, fine by me.” Graves was starting to sound drowsy, his heartbeat slowing. “What're you up to tomorrow? I gotta catch up on voiceovers but you can hit me up after that.”

“Not...tomorrow,” Baron said. Tomorrow was going to be a long day of being locked up in small quiet rooms, probably with a pissed off demon guarding the key. “Any time after that, though.”

“Cool. There's a show I was gonna check out a couple days, we can both go. Assuming it runs with all this going on outside.” He chuckled, settling in more comfortably. “Or this place doesn't blow down. Be funny if I really did wind up dying 'cause I was determined to fuck during a hurricane. Twitter would lose it.”

“That's not gonna happen. It's not even really a hurricane.”

“Close enough. So you wanna check out that show?” 

Baron nodded, smoothing Graves' hair out of his face. “Sure.”

“Cool. And get a new goddamn phone. Never did say what happened to your phone.”

“Nope. Didn't”

“Asshole.”

“I told you.”

He lay back and listened as Graves fell asleep on top of him, echoes of the storm raging away through the walls. He doubted this storm really could cause actual damage, Bálor had made up that story as a shield, but he would hear trouble starting. He traced the edges of that fish inked on the side of Graves' neck; he wasn't anywhere near keyed up enough to still “see” them but he could still just feel the lines. 

Night before a full moon he never slept much anyway, it was no problem to stay awake to just in case the storm did turn dangerous. He closed his eyes and settled in, counting Graves' slow, steady heartbeats until dawn.


End file.
